


Making Amends

by kelcat



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelcat/pseuds/kelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected letter has Anders returning to his childhood home to say one final goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Amends

The house was so much smaller than Anders remembered it—or perhaps it was just because he was so much bigger than when he had last been here. It had been over a decade since he'd been torn from his mother's breast and taken to the Tower of Magi by the Templars; he had thought he would never see this place again.

Yet here he was, a grown man that was somehow reduced to feeling like a child just by looking at the farmhouse he had been born in. Why had he let Nathaniel talk him into coming? Why had he even shown him the letter in the first place? He pulled up on the reins of the horse Nathaniel had insisted he ride, waiting for his lover to catch up.

"Is this it?" Nathaniel asked as he trotted up next to the mage.

Anders nodded. "Home sweet home," he chuckled wryly.

They dismounted their horses and Anders stood there, staring at the house, as Nate tethered them to the fencepost. "Nate, I don't know about this." The doubt in his belly was gnawing at him.

He felt his lover come up behind him and wrap an arm around his waist. "It'll be fine. You'd regret it if you didn't come, you know that."

Anders nodded. That didn't make things any easier, though. He took a deep breath and let it out. Then another. He scowled when Nate nudged him. "Alright, alright." He advanced toward the door and knocked twice, part of him hoping that no one would answer and they could leave.

Almost a full minute passed before the door was opened, and a tiny old woman peered out through the crack.

"May I help you?" The words were said with polite curiosity. Then the woman's eyes widened in surprise. "Anders?"

Anders looked at her in confusion. "I'm sorry, do I— _Mrs. Dodds?_ " He looked in disbelief at the woman who had once been his mother's best friend.

Mrs. Dodds beamed at him as she opened the door wider. "Ah, you remember a daft old woman like me, even after all these years." She looked at him fondly. "You always were such a good boy."

Anders turned to Nate, smiling. "Mrs. Dodds and her husband own the farm further up the road," he explained. Nate nodded in understanding.

"It's just me now, I'm afraid." The woman's expression grew sad. "Mr. Dodds went to the Maker some years ago."

Anders looked at her sympathetically. "I'm so sorry."

Mrs. Dodds seemed to remember herself. "Goodness! What am I doing jawing at you on the doorstep? Come in, come in! He's been so excited ever since he got your letter. He was worried you mightn't come, because of, well…."

_Because of the fact that I should be locked up in a Tower,_ Anders thought wryly. He forced himself to smile. "Of course I came." The old woman beamed at him once more.

He slipped his hand into Nate's, clenching it tightly, as he crossed the threshold into the house. The feeling of being transformed into a small child returned to him once again. The place should have looked different, it should have changed; _he'd_ changed. But it looked exactly as it had when he'd left—dreary and shabby and grey; just like everywhere else in the Anderfels.

Mrs. Dodds beckoned to him. "Your father's in the room down here—he can't manage the stairs anymore, bless him." Anders followed the woman into what used to be his bedroom when he was a child. He blinked in surprise when he saw the man that was lying in his old bed, covered with a quilt. Here, at last, was something that had changed.

His father had never been a burly man, not like Aedan Cousland—but he'd worked the farm nearly all his life, and his body had reflected the strength it took to tame the harsh land. But the man lying in front of him was almost unrecognizable. He looked as if he'd aged fifty years: his cheeks were sunken, deep wrinkles lined his face, his body—what Anders could see of it above the blanket—looked emaciated; just soft wrinkled skin stretched tight over too-prominent bones. But his eyes still shone with vitality.

"Hello, son," he smiled warmly as he stretched out his hand.

Cautiously, Anders moved forward. He took the old man's proffered hand. "Hullo, Da," he cleared his throat. He squeezed the hand once before dropping it, looking away so he could pretend not to notice the look of disappointment in his father's eyes.

Anders tried to think of something to say, but all of the normal platitudes one would usually utter during a reunion seemed false. _You look good. I'm glad to be back. I've missed you._ None of those things were true, and Anders had traveled too far to speak empty words.

He finally settled on something mundane. "This place hasn't changed."

The old man emitted a wheezing laugh. "Aye. Mrs. Dodds keeps the place tidy for me. She's a gift from the Maker, she is."

Anders held his tongue, willing himself not to say the venomous words against the Maker that threatened to spill forth. He looked around the room helplessly, and his eyes fell on Nathaniel, who was still standing in the doorway. Anders stretched out his hand to his lover, inwardly wincing at this mimicking of his father's gesture.

Nathaniel grasped his hand and Anders pulled him forward to stand by his side. "This is Nathaniel," Anders said to his father—his affection for the other man evident in the tone of his voice.

His father's eyes widened in surprise as he looked first at Anders and then Nathaniel. Then understanding seemed to dawn.

"Pleased to meet you," he nodded to Nathaniel, who returned the greeting. "I'm afraid you're not seeing me at my best." He let out a quiet chuckle that quickly turned into a fit of coughing. Anders moved forward to…to do what, exactly? He didn't have to examine the man lying in bed to realize that he was beyond healing magic.

He saw a glass of water sitting on the bedside table and offered it to his father, grateful to at least be able to do _something_ for him. The old man took a small sip before handing it back.

Eventually the coughing died down. "Ah, some days are good, and the pain don't bother me at all. And other days…well…" he shrugged. A bony hand pulled at the quilt covering his body as he struggled to sit up.

"Come on out to the kitchen," he rasped, "Mrs. Dodds can make us some tea."

"Da, I don't think you should be getting up…"

The old man scowled at him. "I ain't dead yet. I guess I can still move around m'own house if I want to. Besides," he grumbled, "your mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I wasn't being a proper host to my guests."

_So, I'm a guest now,_ Anders thought to himself. _What does it say about me that I'm a stranger in my own home?_

The old man slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Anders grasped ahold of his father's arm, worried that his shaking limbs wouldn't be able to hold him up. The old man looked at him gratefully.

The three men made their way slowly out of the bedroom and into the main room of the farmhouse, Mrs. Dodds doting behind them. "I'll just go and fetch the tea things from the kitchen. If one of you could just get the fire going." She gestured to the cold hearth.

Anders settled his father in a cushioned chair. "I'll get it." Raising a hand he tossed a small fireball into the hearth, the flames instantly setting the logs lying there on fire.

He heard a shriek, followed by the sound of crockery shattering on the stone floor. "Sweet Andraste, Bride of the Maker!" He turned to see Mrs. Dodds standing behind him, her hands covering her mouth. On the floor at her feet lay the broken remains of a small clay pitcher that had apparently been full of cream. He cursed himself for his carelessness; he was so used to casting magic without anyone so much as blinking.

He turned to where his father was sitting, dreading what he might find. And there, there it was: the old man's face was contorted with fear. Anders moved towards him, and the man actually flinched away from him, pressing himself into the back of the chair as if to get as far away from his son as possible.

Anders stood there, frozen—the old feelings of shame and wrongness coursing through him. Suddenly, his paralysis broke and he bolted for the front door. Ignoring Nathaniel's protest he wrenched the door open and escaped into the front yard.

His fingers were clutching the fence rail so tight that his knuckles were white. He heard the door shut behind him and then the familiar sensation of Nathaniel wrapping his arms around him. Anders' body shook with anger and frustration; he took several deep breaths, trying to relax.

One arm still curled around Anders' waist, Nate ran the other hand up and down Anders' back soothingly. "It's alright, love." His voice was soft and low. "Calm down."

Anders pulled away from Nate and turned around to face him. "Calm down?" he looked at the rogue incredulously. "Didn't you see them? They're terrified of me!"

"They're not afraid of you, Anders," Nathaniel said practically. "They're afraid of the magic."

"Oh, well that's much better," Anders said sarcastically. He was frustrated with his lover for not understanding, but he allowed Nate to put his arms around him once again.

He placed his fingers on Nate's cheek and turned it to the side. "Do you see that?" He gestured towards a patch of land several yards away. Brush and weeds covered the area, almost completely obscuring a crumbling foundation.

"That's where our barn used to be. Before I burned it down." He leaned forward and rested his head on Nate's shoulder, still looking at that empty field. "That look that my father gave me just now is the same look he had that day." He wiped angrily at the tear that had slipped from his eye. "I was this little, scrawny kid—and my father was afraid of me, of what I'd done and what it meant."

Nate tightened his hold. "It wasn't your fault—you know that. And I'm sure your father knows that too, deep down."

Anders frowned as he picked up his head to look at his lover. "Why is this so important to you, Nate? Why are you pushing me to make up with that bastard?"

Nate's expression was determined. "Because I never had the chance." He shook his head wonderingly. "Maker, Anders, don't you know how lucky you are to have this chance? I'd give anything to be able to see my father one last time…to make things right with him."

Anders scowled. "Your father was a horrible—"

Nate held up a hand, cutting him off. "Whatever else he was, he was still my father. And I never had the chance to say goodbye to him, to tell him that I loved him." He brushed his thumb across Anders' cheek, wiping away the tear that had pooled there. "If you can't forgive him, I understand. But try to talk to him, at least. He's still your father." He kissed Anders lightly on the lips. "You have a chance to make things right with him, love. Don't throw it away."

Anders sighed wearily. He knew he wasn't being fair, he knew it. The Chantry had the people of this land wrapped in chains tighter than the ones Anders had worn when he'd been dragged from his home. They learned from their mother's teat that magic was against the Maker, and that mages were inherently sinful. It wasn't fair to expect his father to be able to ignore those teachings. But it still hurt.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before nodding at Nathaniel. "Alright, I'll try to talk to him. But I make no promises."

Nathaniel smiled at him fondly. "Thank you."

Anders grumbled. "You're lucky I love you, you know that."

Nate laughed. "I'm well aware of that. But I doubt you'd find many others willing to put up with a cranky mage."

Anders couldn't help but chuckle at that. "That's true enough." He pulled Nate down into a deep kiss. "Let's go back in," he finally said. "Before I lose my nerve again."

So Anders tried. He and his father spent several minutes apologizing to each other for the fireball incident: Anders apologizing for casting it without warning, and his father apologizing for "being surprised." It was a start, anyway.

They talked through the afternoon, chatting about various things: how his father had had to hire a few boys from nearby farms to help take care of the crops; the goings-on of various people that Anders had known as a child; and all of the things that had occurred in the village over the past few years.

Anders, for his part, told his father about Amaranthine and Commander Cousland. About how he and Nathaniel had met, and all the friends he had now. A tiny part of him wanted to rub his happiness in his father's face, but he restrained himself; he'd promised Nathaniel he'd try, and he wasn't going to break that promise.

Night rolled around, and after a fairly pleasant supper Anders and Nathaniel headed off to bed. His father had insisted they take the room upstairs, and even though it felt a bit awkward to sleep in his parents' old bedroom he gladly took the man up on the offer—after weeks of camping out it would feel wonderful to sleep in a bed again. He and Nathaniel had gotten spoiled living in the Keep.

Mrs. Dodds had stayed for supper before returning to her own home. But not, Anders couldn't help but notice, without a meaningful glance back at his father; he had a feeling that the two of them were a bit more than just 'old friends'.

Safely ensconced in the upstairs bedroom, Anders flopped backward onto the bed. "Maker, I think this has been the longest day of my life!"

Nate chuckled at him. "Longer than that day the darkspawn invaded Amaranthine?"

"Pretty damn close." Anders unfastened the clasps on his robes before pulling them off over his head. He crawled over to where Nate was sitting on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots. Planting a quick kiss on his lover's neck, he tugged on the leather cord that secured the rogue's braided hair.

"What are you doing, Mage?"

Anders succeeded in removing the cord and began unraveling the thick braid. "I want your hair down," he murmured. "You always leave it braided we're on the road."

"It's easier that way. I can't fight with my hair hanging in my face."

"Well, there's nothing here to fight so you don't have to worry about that. And I like it down." He ran his fingers through the now-loose hair, spreading it out over Nate's shoulders. Nate hummed with pleasure at the sensation.

Anders trailed his finger along the shell of Nate's ear before placing a soft kiss there. He yelped in surprise as Nate twisted around and tackled him onto the bed. Covering Anders' body with his own, Nate leaned down and kissed him hard. When he pulled back he was grinning.

"You like my hair loose, do you?"

Anders grinned back. He reached up and tucked a strand of the rogue's hair behind his ear. "It looks sexy this way."

Nate leaned down and nuzzled his neck. "I'll have to remember that."

Anders gasped as he felt Nate's hand running up his thigh and under his nightshirt. He grasped Nate's forearm, stopping his movement.

"We can't—my father's downstairs."

Nate picked his head up and looked at him, nonplussed. Suddenly he burst into laughter. "You can't be serious!"

Anders scowled at him. "Yes I'm serious. He might hear us."

"Having sex where other people could hear us never bothered you before."

"Yes, well, none of those people was my father," Anders said irritably. "It's just...weird."

Nate sighed. "Alright, have it your way." The smile on the rogue's face reassured Anders that he wasn't really upset.

There was a twinkle in Nate's eyes as he settled on the bed next to Anders. "Am I allowed to hold you?"

Anders chuckled. "Definitely." He rested his head on Nate's chest, sighing in contentment as the other man hugged him tight. "Thank you," he murmured. "For making me come here, and for being with me."

Nate petted Anders' hair. "Anything for you, love. You know that."

Anders picked his head up and gave Nate a light kiss. "I love you."

Nate smiled softly. "Love you, too. Now go to sleep."

Anders smiled and laid his head back down and closed his eyes, but it was a long time before sleep claimed him.

It was still an hour before dawn when Nate crawled from the warmth of the bed he was sharing with his lover. His sleep had been broken up by nightmares of darkspawn, and a particularly frightening one had woken him over an hour ago, sweating and gasping for breath.

He hadn't been able to get back to sleep, so he decided to get in some archery practice rather than continuing to lay awake in bed. Anders wasn't a morning person, so it would still be some time before he woke up. Or rather, it would be some time before Nate would have to come and drag him out of bed.

He dressed quietly, outfitting himself in his leather armor and strapping his grandfather's bow onto his back. He pulled his hair back into a ponytail and secured it with one of the leather cords. He moved back to the bed and placed a light kiss on Anders' forehead, smiling to himself as the mage muttered in his sleep and nuzzled into his pillow.

He padded silently down the stairs. He had just passed the small bedroom when a hoarse voice called out, "who's there?"

Nathaniel paused inside the doorway to see Anders' father sitting propped up in his bed. "I'm sorry, ser," Nathaniel said, "I didn't mean to wake you."

The old man chuckled quietly. "Ah, you didn't. I don't seem able to sleep much these days." He gestured to the chair next to his bed and Nathaniel took the invitation and sat down.

Nate sat there, studying the man in front of him. He had the same deep brown eyes as his son did, and they were filled with sharp intelligence. The man's body may be failing him, but his mind clearly was not.

"Does he talk about me?" the old man asked suddenly.

Nate hesitated, before finally deciding to tell the truth. "No, not really. He doesn't talk about his past very much."

The old man nodded, seeming to understand. "Tell me what he's like. What kind of person is he?" He gave a bitter laugh. "It seems so strange to ask someone I don't even know to tell me who my son is. But…" he trailed off.

Nate smiled at him reassuringly. "He's a good man. He…he cares for people. For everyone, really." His eyes softened as he thought about the man he loved. "He acts like he doesn't care sometimes, but he always there for anyone who needs him."

Nathaniel went on to tell him about everything that had happened during the intelligent darkspawn uprising, and about Anders' role in it. Nate painted the mage as a hero, without any need for embellishment—Anders had been vital in their fight, and if it wasn't for him Vigil's Keep would have fallen during the siege.

It was almost comical to watch the old man's face as Nate spoke. His eyes grew wider and wider as he heard of his son's many deeds. Finally, Nate finished his story.

"He did all that?" the old man asked quietly. "My son?" His voice was tinged with wonder.

Nathaniel nodded. "Anders' magic has been a great help. He's the best healer the Wardens have."

"The Maker surely does move in mysterious ways." The old man smiled softly. "Thank you for tellin' me."

Nate sat there for a few moments, debating with himself. "There's actually something I wanted to ask you, ser." He took a deep breath. "I love Anders, very much. And he loves me. I'd like to—I want to marry him. But it's traditional to ask the father for permission first."

Nathaniel felt himself pinned by those piercing brown eyes. He found himself wondering if this had really been a good idea, after all.

"Do you make him happy?" the old man finally asked.

Nathaniel smiled. "I try to."

"You go on and marry him, then. And may the Maker bless you both."

Nathaniel smiled to himself, thinking that the Maker blessed him every day that Anders was by his side. "Thank you, ser." He noticed the old man's eyes droop. "I should let you sleep." He rose from his chair and headed for the door.

"Nathaniel," the tired voice called him back. "He turned out well, then? Truly?"

Nate nodded. "He turned out very well."

oOoOo

Anders knew that the end was coming soon. He had been home for nearly a week now, and his father was growing weaker and weaker as each day passed. He was completely confined to his bed now, no longer having the strength to move from the room, even with assistance.

He spent nearly all of his time with his father now, waiting. Most of the time Anders was the only one talking, his father seemingly content to just listen to him talk about whatever was on his mind. A night came, however, when the old man seemed to have something on his mind.

"I guess I'll be with the Maker soon." The old man's rasping voice was barely above a whisper. The soft light from the lantern made the deep lines on his face stand out grotesquely.

"Da…" Anders began.

"No," the old man shook his head vehemently. "I don't got long now, I know. And there's things I need to say." He grasped Anders' hand and squeezed it tight. "I want you to know—me and your mother was never ashamed of you."

Anders could feel the tears pooling in his eyes. He choked back the sob that threatened to escape him as he clasped his father's hand in both of his.

"I'm sorry we let the Templar's take you," his father's voice shook with emotion. "We should've done something…we shouldn't've let them take you."

Anders shook his head. "You didn't have a choice, Da. They would have taken me no matter what."

"But we coulda hid you…"

"They would have found me, eventually." Anders let out a bitter chuckle. "They always did."

The tears were flowing freely down the old man's cheeks. "That was the worst day of my life. Seeing those men take my son from me. I'm so sorry," he whispered again. "For everything."

Anders was crying by now as well. "It's alright, Da. I—I forgive you." And he did. After all of these years, he finally did.

His father closed his eyes, smiling softly. "Thank you. You're a good boy." He let out a quiet sigh. "There's a box out in the shed in back of the house. Up on the top shelf. I want you to have it."

Anders nodded silently. "Alright." He clasped his father's hand tighter as the old man's breathing evened out and he fell asleep.

oOoOo

Anders slipped out of the room just after midnight; his father had gone to the Maker at last, and Anders felt strangely empty. He didn't want to wake Nate, not yet. He needed a little time to himself to absorb the enormity of the fact that his father was really gone.

He had taken the lantern out of the room with him, and he used it now to guide him to the small shed that stood feet away from the farmhouse's back door. The air was thick with dust, and he could hear some time of creature—a mouse perhaps—scuttling across the bare wood floor.

He looked around the small shed and finally found a row of shelves in the very back, a small wooden box nestled on the shelf at the very top. He put the lantern down on the ground and stretched up onto his toes and pulled the box down.

Heedless of the dirt he sat down on the floor next to the light and took a deep breath. Slowly he raised the lid of the box. Inside were several sheaths of folded paper.

He pulled the topmost one out and realized it was a letter. He unfolded it and scanned its contents. It was addressed to his father, and his own name jumped out at him several times. He flipped to the last page and gasped as he saw the signature—the letter was from Knight-Commander Greagoir.

He returned to the first page of the letter and began to read. The letter was an accounting of Anders' last escape, and how he had been recruited by the Wardens in Amaranthine. It finished with Greagoir apologizing for no longer being able to give regular updates about Anders now that he was with the Wardens.

Confused, Anders dug through the letters until he came to the very first one.

_Dear Ser,_ (it began)

_I am writing to let you know that your son has arrived within the Tower of Magi safely, and that he appears to be well. He has been here for only a month, but he is already adapting well. He gets along with everyone he meets, and seems to have made a great impression on the First Enchanter!_

_I know it must have been hard letting your son go, but you know that this is the Maker's will. He will be happy here, I am sure. He will learn to use his magic to help mankind, and he will be the better for it. Your letter touched me deeply, and I will do my best to keep you informed of how your son is doing._

_May the Maker watch over you._

Anders read the letter over twice more before opening the rest of them. There must have been at least three dozen in the box, and all of them were about him. The Knight Commander must have been corresponding with his father for years.

The tears welling in his eyes were obscuring his vision, and he finally gave in. He set the last of the letters aside and began to cry. His body shook with the force of his grief as huge, braying sobs surged up out of him. All these years he thought his father had not cared about him, had not given a damn about what had happened to him after he was taken away that day. But he had been wrong; his father had cared enough about him to write to the Knight-Commander—not just once, but for _years_. His father had loved him.

He finally picked himself up off the floor and returned to the house and up to the room he shared with his lover. He set the box—the greatest treasure he'd ever held—onto the table and crawled into bed. He woke Nate up with a gentle touch on his shoulder, and told him how his father had passed away. Grief overtook him once again as Nathaniel wrapped his arms around him and whispered soothing words into his ear.

oOoOo

Two days later, with a cool breeze sweeping up from the plains, he buried his father in the small Chantry graveyard in the nearby village. The grave was right next to his mother's, and Anders took comfort in the thought that wherever they were, they were together once again.

He barely listened to the eulogy given by the Revered Mother—he would have rather not had the Chantry be involved in the burial at all, but he knew it was what his father would have wanted. So he stood through it silently, and did his best to be gracious when the woman offered words of comfort after the service was over.

When the last of the mourners—a distraught Mrs. Dodds among them—left the graveyard, Anders and Nathaniel remained behind. Anders stepped into his lover's welcoming arms, burying his face in the rogue's neck. Nathaniel's hold on him was tight, making him feel secure in a way that nothing else could.

Nate loosened his hold just a little and brushed his thumb along Anders' cheek. Anders raised his head and stared into those beautiful slate-grey eyes. Nate cleared his throat quietly.

"I talked to your father before he passed away," he began. "I asked him for permission to marry you."

Anders blinked at him. "You what?"

Nate smiled at him sheepishly. "I love you, Anders. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Laughter bubbled up out of Anders, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. "You asked my father for my hand in marriage? Maker, Nate, you are so old-fashioned." He stroked the rogue's dark hair. "Of course I'll marry you. You've always been there for me when I needed you—how could I not want to be with you forever?"

Nate's grin stretched from ear-to-ear. He pulled Anders into a fierce kiss, infusing it with all of the emotions he felt for his lover. Long moments later they broke apart. Anders leaned against Nate's chest as he looked down at his father's grave.

He had not wanted to come back to this place, had not wanted to see his father again. He had thought there was no point in spending time with a man who hadn't cared for him. He knew now he was wrong. The box containing the letters was tucked away in his pack; he had read through them several times since he'd found them, and he knew instinctively that his father had done the same.

Those letters represented a bond between father and son, one that Anders had been sure hadn't existed. After years of pain and insecurity, he finally felt free. Free to move on with his life, to remember the good times that he and his father had shared when he was a child. Free to face whatever came next.


End file.
